Menagerie
by The-Queen-of-Fantasy
Summary: noun; a strange collection of people or things. She showed up on their infamous doorstep not with a case but to visit her mother, yet the favorite tenants of 221B become more accustomed to Nora Hudson than she ever expected. Peek into the four weeks she spends with them for the four wild adventures in store, all of which draw her circling closer to Mr. Holmes. Sherlock\OC set in s2
1. Chip Off the Old Shoulder

**I was bound to find my way to this fandom, wasn't I? I had this planned a couple years back and decided to bring out the outline and dust it off. Hope you enjoy my twist on our darling Baker Street boys!**

She fought her way through the torrential downpour to what she hoped was the correct apartment alongside the sandwich shop, though there were plenty of that combination on the streets she'd passed so far. Central London housed much more fog and polluted rain than the outskirts and she had to shove hair away from her eyes to make out the number on the door.

221B. She made it.

"Mum! It's me, Nora!" She landed a few good smacks to the door but got no reply. "Mum, open up! It's horrible out here."

The door was finally opened a sliver and a perturbed Mrs. Hudson peeked out. As soon as she saw the drenched woman on the doorstep, she cried, "Nora, good heavens! Get inside right now and try not to drip too much on the furniture."

Nora huffed as she was dragged right back into her teenage rebellion at just one ridiculous sentence from her mother, but she did her best to comply as she hauled her suitcases inside and carefully avoided putting it near the sofas or on the carpet.

"Oh dear," her mother continued to fret, "I did forget to tell my tenants that you were coming, but I'm sure they'll take it in stride."

"Any chance I could get a towel, since we've skipped past hello?" Nora shrugged off her waterlogged jumper and took a deep breath of the air pricked with a floral scent.

"Well yes, let me go find a clean one if we have any."

There was a clock ticking on the wall that drew Nora's gaze around the room at the lull in company and though it was small, she noticed the place was rather quaint and cozy and it was after all in a good part of town. If she wasn't so settled in the suburbs of Croydon she'd consider moving in.

And if she wasn't at odds with her mother, too.

A bustle from behind her told of that same mother coming back and Nora immediately began patting herself dry with the towel provided as the other woman perched on a chair.

"Uh, so Mum," she began as she twisted and turned to reach her saturated back. "How've you been?"

"It's all fine here, dear. You don't call enough to hear about the day-to-day."

Nora unsuccessfully stifled a scoff. "I think I last called months ago, so I'd say that's true. You do seem to be doing well here for yourself, as am I."

Her mother stepped back into the kitchen to fetch the pot of tea and fiddle with a few biscuits, both of which were nervous ticks. "Yes, Nora, I'm doing well. And how's your business going? Any more unseemly break-ins?"

"Mum! That was years ago when I first began, I do wish you'd give that a rest."

She did give it a rest and finally Nora was able to take her larger luggage into the spare bedroom down the hall and change into clothes that were less damp. The room was calming and had all the usual knickknacks her mum kept around, flooding back happier memories that began to thaw her bones. She tugged her wet hair up and away into a ponytail before rejoining the elder Hudson for the tea still sitting in the kitchen, a gentle smile drawing her lips apart.

"It really is good to see you, Mum. And sorry about earlier, I'll try to be a little better."

Mrs. Hudson waved a dismissive hand as they sat more comfortably at the table. "Come now, dearie, what's a mother and daughter if they don't fight like cats?"

"More functional than us," Nora deadpanned, and the women laughed for the first time since the rain had enclosed them together.

A key scraping in the lock behind them snapped Nora's head up much faster than her mother's as the latter nonchalantly noted, "Ah, that should be my tenants coming in now. They're such lovely boys, I do think you'll like them."

The rain had lessened considerably but both men hustled in quickly all the same, and with the kitchen door open Nora's view from the table gave her the perfect angle to survey both. The pair were rather stark opposites: one tall and one short, brunette and gray-blonde, the former with a startlingly clear expression and the other with comforting wise lines creasing at his mouth and brow.

And then all at once they were up the stairs and away with not so much as a word.

Mrs. Hudson just giggled knowingly and stood to clear away the dishes. "We best make a visit up to their flat, they seem very determined and so probably won't come down soon."

The stairs were all solid under Nora's feet as she followed her mother up a floor, all except one that creaked loudly under both of them. When they reached the top she was surprised to find that the door to the upstairs flat was open, and the women stood respectfully in the threshold as Mrs. Hudson called to the two occupants.

"Boys, I've brought someone to meet you."

Only one turned around, the shorter one, and offered a pleasant smile as he waved them inside and toward the couch. The taller man's dark curls gave him a wild outline from where he stood facing the window and only when his friend poignantly cleared his throat did he acknowledge them.

Without turning to face them, the man at the window said, "I'm surprised you ignored Mrs. Hudson's daughter downstairs, John, don't you consider that kind of thing rude?

John, evidently the man next to them, scoffed and shook his head. "That's not…is it? Are you her daughter?"

"Hang on, how did you know that?" Nora questioned. "I thought you said you didn't tell them I was coming, Mum."

"I didn't even know you had a daughter," John said to Mrs. Hudson, making Nora whip around to also face her mother.

"What, were you too embarrassed of me to tell them you had offspring?"

She piped back, "Not when we're on bad terms, that's not the kind of family you brag of!"

"It always works for me," the man at the window mused.

The three bickering paused to stare at him, the man who'd kept quiet except for two little interjections. Nora then quickly burst, "How did you know I was her daughter? Who are you?"

He whirled dramatically to face them and his intense blue eyes suddenly scoured Nora bottom to top, making her shift under his gaze.

"The bow in your upper lip is the same shape as dear Mrs. Hudson's and your hair is the same shade of brown hers would be if she weren't graying. Your slouched posture next to her indicates familiarity and you bicker with her much like any daughter does. Mrs. Hudson has also extensively told of the very physical nature of her and Mr. Hudson's relationship and I'm surprised she doesn't have more children scattered about. Let's not forget your bit of hand luggage downstairs, shall we? The single initial _N_ is embroidered on the front and women don't use surnames alone for a monogram, leaving it to be your first. Interesting choice, leaving an _H_ off, as it suggests you're not terribly fond of the Hudson connotation. And to top it off, it's obvious you came in from the rain and yet there was an umbrella handle visible in the luggage, meaning you purposefully got drenched to seem more vulnerable because that would make it less likely for Mrs. Hudson to get angry and start an argument."

He made the long speech seem effortless and punctuated it with, "And the name is Sherlock Holmes."

John spoke up among the stunned silence. "And you knew that from the three seconds we were downstairs?"

"Unless of course she's with the Russian mafia, which would explain most of those things," Sherlock airily skipped the question posed, "but seeing as Mrs. Hudson isn't up in arms we can assume the former."

Nora was still staring dumbfounded and only snapped her jaw closed when she remembered it was rudely hanging open too long. She slowly stood, mouth now dry and still in a little disbelief, and held out her hand. "Well somehow you're correct on all accounts. Mr. Holmes, was it? I'm Nora Hudson."

His grip on her hand was firm and cool and yet his smirk warmed her chest. "I know."

"And I'm Doctor John Watson," the other man offered and Nora shook his hand eagerly as well.

"A doctor? I'm impressed. How did my mother get such bright tenants?"

Sherlock scoffed before he skirted away to sit in a chair across the room. "Bright is a relative term when it comes to John."

"He's always this kind, I promise," John said wryly.

"Oh dear!" Mrs. Hudson chided. "Try not to make Nora so comfortable with your hostility, she's only just arrived."

"Yes, I'm quite sure she's unfamiliar with hostility in her line of work," Sherlock smugly added.

Nora could have laughed in the silence that followed, with everyone's baited breath waiting for Sherlock to jump into another spiel about her. The couch beneath her and the company she was in were already quite comfortable and so she sank further into the cushions before speaking up again.

"Should I tell you what I do or would you like to figure that out on your own?"

Sherlock hinted at a proud smile as he rested his fingers in front of his mouth to survey her again. "Antiques handler, obviously. You began your visit on a Monday, meaning that your busiest work days fall on the weekend. Your eyes have darted around the room multiple times since your entrance to ogle the books or vintage artifacts I've got stored around. Dust lingering on your clothes means dealing with old objects, ergo antiques worker. Bromley, I'm guessing?"

"Croydon," she corrected and bit back a grin at his frustration, "but right again. I own the largest antiques store in the borough after working as VP for the previous owner for years straight out of university."

"How'd you land that good a job?" John asked.

Nora batted her eyes excessively. "My feminine wiles can be very powerful."

Without missing a beat, Sherlock said, "She slept with the boss."

"Nora Jean!" Mrs. Hudson cried, standing up in indignation. "How dare you!"

"Mum, it was just once. And you were an exotic dancer so I hardly think you're in a position to be upset."

"Men paid to look at my body, not actually handle it!" The elder woman huffed some more and headed for the door. "I will be downstairs if you need me."

Once she was alone with the two tenants, Nora felt a blush growing on her cheeks. The rain had begun to beat down harder once more, at least lending a soothing background hum to the stiff room. They were both avoiding eye contact with her after the outburst and she felt it her duty to smooth things over instead of scurrying away so soon.

"I do apologize for how easily Mum and I can get into a row."

John waved dismissively and sat on the couch in the freshly empty space next to her. "It's bound to happen with parents. Why are you here, by the way, since you haven't visited since Sherlock and I moved in?"

"I'm having major renovations done to my house," she explained, "and I figured I might try and catch up with Mum as well as have a handy place to be away from all the constant jackhammering."

Sherlock crossed and uncrossed his legs, boredom seeping through every twitch of his muscles. "And what of your darling antiques business? I doubt John will let you take any of his useless things even with recompense."

She giggled openly at John's sour expression before catching the restless gaze of the man across the room. "Business through the virtual world is booming nowadays, Mr. Holmes, and even the boss lady earns her holidays. You lot have got about a month of me as an extra flatmate."

It was John's turn to laugh. "Not sure you'll be spending much time up here."

"No, of course not."

* * *

Up the stairs to flat B was Nora's first destination the next morning. Her mother was nowhere to be found on the ground floor and neither was any handsoap so she trekked up to where she heard the elusive woman's voice wafting from the upper flat.

"I am not your housekeeper!" she was complaining to John while pouring his morning tea.

Nora flicked a wave and a smile before interjecting. "Mum, where have you got the handsoap stored?"

"Just because I was your housekeeper for eighteen years," Mrs. Hudson's warning tone was familiar to all in the room, "doesn't mean I still am. Do they not sell it outside of Central London?"

Nora had to clasp her hands to keep from snickering in light of being scolded and simply offered, "You're right, I'll go out for some in a bit."

Her mother's face softened once she had a large tray of food settled nicely on the table just as Sherlock stumbled out of his room. She placed a kiss to her daughter's temple and announced, "Now dear, if you were nice enough to these boys yesterday they may just let you in on the breakfast."

She was out of the room and down the stairs before anyone could bring her to their beck and call and John was the one to motion Nora toward their table to eat. She helped herself to the familiar croissants and juices as Sherlock barely took a sip of tea before escaping to the main room and taking up his violin, burgundy dressing gown flailing behind him.

A shrewd melody wafted over the rooms and eclipsed most of the busy noises from the street below, and Nora cracked a grin as Sherlock swayed back and forth to his own tune. The blank expression on his features, however, let on that his mind was delving far elsewhere.

John took advantage of this and lowered his voice to ask something that had clearly been on his mind for awhile. "So let me get this straight, your dad was the one…" He trailed off in embarrassment.

"In the drug cartel? Yes," she answered easily and gave a comforting smile. "My business prowess had to come from somewhere, Dr. Watson."

He chuckled. "Yes I do suppose you've had time to come to terms with it."

"Then I suppose she'll need plenty of time to adjust to your obtuseness about it," Sherlock called over the incessant music as John's eyes rolled skyward.

They fell back into brief silence while eating the spread of breakfast. Nora's elbows were neatly propped on the table, putting on full display the wrinkles in her shirt from being folded in her suitcase until that morning, something she quickly lost track of during the riveting conversation that followed. John inquired about her university experience and the German she'd learned for business purposes and she was curious about his medical expertise. She was surprised when he mentioned Afghanistan but he was quite willing to proudly explain.

"Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, yes."

"Once again I'm apparently in better company than expected."

The violin screeched to a halt and Sherlock sighed loudly. "Neither of you can observe worth a damn. Yes, her father was executed on criminal charges. Yes, you've now got one flatmate who's ex-military and me, the consulting detective whose brother is the British government. Are we all caught up now?"

To John's surprise, Nora's lips held the faintest smile and she was quick on her toes even from a sitting position.

"Yes, we're quite caught up. I'm impressed except you've yet to mention the fiancé I've been hiding from you. Am I that good?"

Sherlock stalked over and thwacked the violin bow down in front of her, his glare aflame with interest at the challenge that she'd so suddenly presented. Not many people wanted to draw more of his critical attention to themselves.

The sharp _swish_ of the string had definitely caught Nora's attention and she couldn't help but wonder, did he catch the spark in her eye? Or the weight of her breath?

Surprisingly he made comment on neither, instead saying with the blunt force of a brick, "You don't have one. You've not turned even subconscious attention to your ring finger, so there's not usually a ring there in the first place. And you have no issue being in the close unsupervised vicinity of two single men in your mother's own home. But it was too kind of you to try and engage my bored mind."

John quickly grew tired of holding his tongue and quipped, "Well you weren't on the kind side, Sherlock. Why do you always have to prove yourself like that?"

"It's quite alright, Dr. Watson," Nora placated, "since you both seem to be comfortable with me so quickly, I don't mind saying that I've lived with a jackarse before."

Sherlock proudly smirked. "See, John? I'm as much a common jackarse as any man."

Nora felt compelled to clear away her part of the dishes when the meal came to a close and as she was washing at the sink the two men fell into an excited exchange about a story in the papers. She nodded to herself, suddenly quite sure that a month's stay with her mother wouldn't turn out to be a rough one after all.

 **The smut's gonna be in the third chapter if you're lookin for it :)**


	2. Curiosity Killed the Wild Goose Chase

"So Mr. Holmes, where am I in this mind palace of yours?"

Nora had demanded that John explain the concept when Sherlock unceremoniously shoved them onto the Baker Street pavement so he could be alone, and eventually she was curious enough question the genius about it when they were allowed to return inside.

"An ellipsis under Mrs. Hudson's name, naturally," he answered nonchalantly from his reclined position on the couch.

"Well is it at least a good photo of me?"

John snorted but the humor of the question escaped Sherlock, whose tone didn't change as he continued, "Mm, no image. Just initials."

Though the empty chair opposite where John had seated himself was enticing, after a week at 221B Nora knew better than to disrupt the balance of the flat too much and so reclaimed residence at the desk near the window with a giggle. "I guess I'll be thankful that you can't do too much prying when I'm not around."

John laughed again with a shake of his head and addressed Sherlock as the latter stood and stretched ridiculously. "So did you properly store away all the information from the last case?"

"I'm surprised at your concern but yes, of course I did."

"And we haven't got a new one to work on?"

"Regrettably," Sherlock mused, "but Lestrade hasn't consulted in a few days and according to his usual percentage he should need my expertise soon."

None of the afternoon sun could be seen through the cloud cover and yet various lamps around the room were left off so as not to interfere with Sherlock's experiments, lending to a drowsy atmosphere that Nora settled into while typing away at her laptop. Reading, typing, and experimenting left a lull in the company that allowed her to finish up a few business emails before her stomach growled.

The shops run she promised her mother to go on suddenly sprang back into her mind and she thought she'd extend a little courtesy to the other tenants while she went.

"Dr. Watson, I'm going –"

"Sorry, why do you still use our last names?" John's interruption was brisk but not rude, as if it had been on the tip of his tongue anyway.

Nora sat back down and gave an understanding smile. "Well, I guess I'm just accustomed to using them at work because –"

"Because she's operating under the assumption," Sherlock interjected this time, the hint of a smirk gracing his lips as he once again explained her life for her, "that people who frequent antiques shops don't want the equality and familiarity of first names, but the status afforded by surnames."

She waited patiently until he was done, keeping her mouth neutral all the while to disguise her fascination. "Right again. Does it bother either of you too much?"

"No, I was just curious is all," John answered. "Seeing how your Mum prefers to be casual."

"Good, 'cause I'm likely to keep doing it." Nora stood again, purse in tow and wryness twisted on her lips. "Now as I was saying earlier, Dr. Watson, I'm going out to the grocer. Do you or Holmes need anything?"

John paused at the question and had to blink away confusion. "Good god, yes! Any chance you could get us milk?"

Sherlock butted in with, "Be sure to flirt with the cashier like you seem to usually do, considering the free extra fruits you come home with every time."

"Of course you would notice. I'll keep that in mind."

She arrived at the grocer just before Monday's rush hour and so picked up the items she needed quickly as possible – cooking supplies for her mother, milk and a little sugar for the men of the house, and of course a few fruits. The latter half of the shopping was accompanied by a business call from her finance manager, one that continued through most of the cab ride home as well. After depositing most of the shopping downstairs, she was free to traipse up to her newest friends.

Nora had been gone maybe an hour at maximum and yet flat B had managed to accrue another visitor in that time, one who was deep in conversation with an aloof Sherlock now perched in his proper chair.

She slowly stepped into the line of sight of both men and smiled brightly. "Hi, sorry to interrupt, I didn't realize you'd have guests. Would you like me to just slip the milk in your refrigerator?"

"Now that Grant is done examining your cleavage, yes I think you should put everything away," Sherlock quipped.

Indeed Nora's shirt had been dragged down a little from carrying all the shopping and the visitor's gaze had been drawn to her exposed bra, but he snapped his eyes back up and cried, "Now hang on just a minute, I wasn't examining anything! And it's Greg."

She was unfazed and waved him off as she finished putting away the bags, returning with her hand held out. "Nora Hudson, I'm staying downstairs with my mother for a bit."

"Greg Lestrade," he announced with repeated emphasis on the correct name. "Nice to see someone a little normal scurrying about here. Best of luck with these gents."

"I heard that," John called from an adjacent room.

Sherlock scoffed and stood grandiosely to examine the flurry of papers now tacked to the far wall. Over his shoulder he said, "Don't veil your slight importance now, Lestrade, your personality on its own is lackluster. He's a detective inspector with Scotland Yard."

"A detective inspector!" Nora gushed. "I've never met one before, how delightful. You're here on a case I assume?"

"Yeah, there's been a string of robberies in the Catholic churches we have here and there and today there was an attempted murder."

Sherlock's fingers had been fidgeting at his side and with the sharpie in hand but they slowed to rest folded against his mouth and his rigid stance was only broken with the occasional tilt of his head. Nora and Lestrade looked on as if he might effortlessly solve it right then and there, but the minutes ticked by and they had to play with small talk instead.

"Well, while he's still busy with that," Lestrade droned after they'd covered the bases on weather and hometowns, "I'll get back to the Yard and see what police work can accomplish. I expect I'll be back later."

She bid him goodbye and sent him off with a handful of her mother's baking and made it back to the top of the stairs to see Sherlock unmoved, leaving her half a moment to study his lithe form. Her hands gravitated to her hips and she was about to interrogate him to stimulate the thought process when the doorbell rang out shrilly.

After a laugh she asked, "Is Lestrade actually dense or only by your impossible standards?"

"That wasn't him. The footsteps were loud, the short heels of a woman, and quickly receded after the brief ring," Sherlock stated. He let his voice carry louder to call to the next room and say, "Do check the door, John, I believe someone anxious has left us a present."

"What if it's a bomb?" Nora protested.

"Ah, possible. With caution, John!"

The doctor marched down the stairs with only a bemused shake of his head to greet Nora as he passed. She'd left a book propped open near the window to finish reading and had just retrieved it but was startled when John exclaimed from downstairs.

"Dr. Watson, are you alright?"

After a few moments of silence, his voice was thick and his unintelligible syllables grew softer as he bounded up the stairs with something strange in hand.

A baby's car seat. When he turned it around and gently placed it down, Nora found herself gazing at an infant sleeping soundly.

"A baby? Someone's brought you a baby…" she trailed off, trying to grasp the situation and how on earth the child could sleep at a time like this.

Sherlock was indifferent. "It was bound to happen eventually, you should see all the sorts that pointlessly come in thinking they have a difficult case."

"Sherlock, a child has been left in our charge," John implored, running a hand over his face and nearly jumping out of his skin when the baby slowly woke up to shake her head of dark curls and begin to cry. "And look, what…what are we supposed to do now, hm?"

Nora knelt down and fumbled until she freed the infant from the car seat and then thought it best to bring her to shoulder height to cradle. Even Sherlock's interest was piqued at her actions and so in a quiet singsong she answered the unasked question. "It's been a few years, but I was one of those girls who babysat every child on the block."

As she patted the infant's bottom once more, she found a piece of paper tucked into the onesie. "Look, there's a note that says _Abbey_. Lovely name, really."

Sherlock swiveled widely and snatched the paper from her fingers in an instant. Little Abbey had calmed down some, allowing Nora to undistractedly observe the complete change in countenance of the man in front of her. And oh, was it fascinating!

His striking eyes brightened as they took in the concise contents of the note and his lips fell parted in thought. He suddenly had no regard for the furniture in the room and Nora had to step out of the way as he trampled onto the coffee table and couch cushions to look at papers scattered about, and then back to leap over his chair to grab his coat.

Once it was situated on his shoulders, he clapped his hands together. "Oh, yes! The note says _Abbey_ , this is fantastic! Come on John, we'll beat Lestrade to Scotland Yard and set to work immediately."

"Sherlock!" John barely had time to swing on his cargo jacket before jogging after him. "You do realize we're not actually chasing anyone at the moment!"

Nora called after them rather sharply in her distress, "Mr. Holmes! What is going on?"

He so kindly backtracked enough to catch her eye from halfway down the staircase, a wild smile playing on his mouth. "A new game, Nora Hudson, is on!"

The pair of heavy footfalls hadn't disappeared before Nora saw her mother hurrying up the stairs. "My goodness! What are those boys clamoring about this time?"

The older woman slowed in the doorway and put her hand to her mouth when she saw her daughter standing in the middle of the disheveled room, an infant tucked in her arms and eyes confusedly wide.

"I thought I was going mad when I heard a baby's cry," Mrs. Hudson murmured and made her way over to place a careful hand to Abbey's head. "She's a darling, but what on earth is going on?"

"I was hoping you'd be able to figure that out, you've lived with them longer."

Her mother giggled softly. "Not at all, dear. Looks like we'll just have to wait until they get back."

* * *

Nora's feet felt heavy where they paced back and forth in a diagonal across the flat in an attempt to give Abbey a steady rocking, yet her cries carried on anyway. The pair was pivoting at the window when Nora noticed a cab and a police car come to a stop on the darkened Baker Street and she sighed with relief.

She was waiting for them when they came up the stairs and she immediately blurted, "Oh thank god! The little one is such a delight but Mum abandoned me for sleep and we were doing great until Abbey started getting fussy a while ago and now I've got to use the loo and I'm trying to not let her wake the entire block."

Not even giving Sherlock enough time to remove his coat, she handed him the wailing baby and brushed past John and Lestrade on her beeline to the bathroom. Upon her return she found Sherlock in the same spot but with Abbey shifted to one arm, fast asleep.

"She was uncomfortable," he explained, "and I simply applied faint pressure to the points on her body that would have been most constricted by the womb, therefore inducing a sense of comfort and well-being that she experienced with her mother."

"A fine mother you'll make," Lestrade jabbed.

Nora leisurely pulled her arms and neck through a few stretches and relished the calm that had settled over the flat, which was surprising considering the number of strong personalities that had just waltzed in. "Anybody want tea before I sit down and you lot tell me what all happened?"

After a short chorus of yes's and four small cups were poured, Nora took hers and swayed over to the couch to sit and finish resting from mum duty. Sherlock looked perplexed when she didn't take Abbey back but kept the baby in his grasp as he started pacing around.

"Well, we haven't figured it all out yet," Lestrade began, but was cut off by Sherlock's sharp chuckling.

"I guess I should stop being surprised that you simply don't observe."

"Oh yeah?" the detective challenged. "So when exactly did you solve it?"

Sherlock came to a stop in front of the window and had to give Abbey a few pats to lull her back down. "As we left the Yard."

John spoke up after choking down his tea. "Well Jesus, what did we do all those hours of running around for?!"

"Lestrade was going to want his evidence and I wanted to do a little sightseeing at the churches, you never know when that might be useful."

"So you just let us go and waste time –"

"Now gentlemen," Nora interjected, surprising even herself at how she could still turn into her mother. "The neighbors would probably appreciate if we all kept our voices down, not just Abbey."

She stood and gently wrapped her arms with Sherlock's to take the infant back and without prompting he also handed her a blanket to keep Abbey soothed, tucking it just so around the tiny body.

How few people even knew he had a shred of parental instinct? Or that at the current proximity the curve in his lip was enticing?

"So tell us Mr. Holmes, what did happen?" she urged and took calculated steps away from him and toward the chairs. But her awe at his gentility was fleeting because his answer grounded them all a little too hard.

"It was a murder but not a crime."

John scoffed. "I'm pretty sure murder is a capital offense."

"No John, the murder of desires, of a dream! Those can get crushed daily with no visits from Lestrade."

"I don't know, I've crushed a few people's dreams in the crime syndicate," Lestrade added before neatly setting his teacup back on the tray.

Nora drummed her free fingers on her crossed knee and hoped her shirt wasn't riding down again from the way the baby on her shoulder was so cuddled up. She managed to get the story back on track by wondering aloud, "So what dream was crushed and what does it have to do with Abbey?"

"Her name isn't Abbey." When Sherlock was met with three blank stares he groaned loudly. "It's the wrong spelling for the girl's name, couldn't you read! It would be A-b-b-y for the diminutive of Abigail. No, here the note _Abbey_ was referring to the convent type of abbey, the operating house for nuns. And what religion do nuns operate out of, you might ask? Catholicism, correct! And all of the robbed churches were, say it with me…"

"Catholic," John muttered. "And so the burglaries and the attempted murder?"

Sherlock smirked again and shed his coat quite suddenly. "Jilted lover trying to atone for the sexual sins and somebody's angry father intervened. Biological father, obviously, not the spiritual one. The poor nun at the center of it all needed her baby out of the way and correctly assumed I could identify the right people to bring to justice."

As if the child could sense her tumultuous story being described she up and started crying again, leading Nora to stand and stroll around the room shushing softly.

As they passed Lestrade, he asked, "So what's her actual name?"

"Who knows? Doesn't matter," Sherlock clipped and triumphantly collapsed onto the length of the couch.

Nora rolled her eyes and didn't bother to keep her answer to the other men quiet as she continued her trek around the room. "Well I'm going to keep calling her Abby for ease of everything."

John had been busy returning various cups and trays to the kitchen and turned around with a clap of his hands to state, "So, the case is solved, Greg knows who to go arrest in the morning, and Abby…"

It was Lestrade who mustered up the courage to say, "You do know I've got to take her back now, right?"

"Right," Nora echoed, shifting the blanket to cover the tiny feet that had kicked out around her chest. She found herself willing an angelic halo over her head to mimic the Virgin Mary and tossed a lilt into her voice to say, "Detective Inspector, do you think she could stay with us just for tonight while you find foster placement for her? I wouldn't want her to be lonely, not after all this."

Lestrade carded a hand through his graying hair and Nora noticed that behind him, one side of Sherlock's mouth was pulled up in amusement.

She continued with, "Look, Mum got baby formula and a few diapers from one of the neighbors with a newborn, I promise she'll be well taken care of."

It only took a few more moments of pondering for Lestrade to resign with a sigh. "Well alright, I'll be back first thing in the morning with foster care."

"You're a saint." Nora grasped his shoulder in gratitude and even little Abby gave a winning smile at the pieces of Nora's hair she managed to grab. "And I mean that with all references intended."

Once Lestrade had been ushered out, John took up residence in his own chair and since Sherlock was still splayed on the couch, Nora finally took the dive and settled herself opposite John in the detective's chair. Abby was still playing with the long hair in her grasp and she gave a toothless grin to the woman holding her.

With his own incredulous smile at Nora's affection, John teased, "Should I get you a pram?"

"It's just one night, Doctor."

"Well just to get it out there, I did not sign up for diaper duty," he retorted and went back to reading the paper.

Silence only fell for a moment before Sherlock countered it. "It is almost elegant."

"What, diaper changes?" Nora joked but her smile faltered and her heart briefly paused when she looked over to find him staring at her. He was still so neatly dressed in that suit and it lent to a severity that she simmered under.

"Your use of meek feminine wiles to get what you want, as you spoke of when we first met. You're able to manipulate men using the power you hold _under_ them, not over. You target the pseudo-dominant ones whose egos get in the way of recognizing subversive flattery."

Nora could only hope that the dimly-lit room was able to conceal the blood rushing to her cheeks. "Well it sounds rather terrible when you put it like that."

"No, no, like I said it's nearly masterful," Sherlock assured with a quick wave. "Using Lestrade's inspector title, holding your body language to seem more vulnerable. It was all quite a show. You'd do better to master more than one marketable manipulative skill than that, of course, but Lestrade is simple enough for it to work on."

"Take the bit of a compliment while he's offering it," John lazily advised, "or else that terrible honesty will come back."

There was a gleam from a lamp visible over the top of little Abby's head that bobbed up and down with her excited jumps and Nora nodded in understanding in the same beat. The weight of the late hour slowly fell on her and so it was through a smirk stretched with a yawn that she answered.

"A compliment from Mr. Holmes at all? I should get it tattooed."


	3. Knock Your Pants Off

**The M rating was very much on purpose, darlings ;)**

It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to realize it, to notice that all the extra caresses along her back and brushes to her hands when he passed her where on purpose. He'd intended to say all those innuendos in her presence and he'd meant for her to get a fleeting glimpse of his physicality when he would shove her out of his path.

Sherlock was to trying to fluster her.

It was in the middle of an uneventful evening when the realization hit and she had to close her laptop to let it sink in how much it had _worked_. She had found her gaze drawn to him in the most mundane moments and with each of his extraneous touches she felt a brief spark, even if it was through her coat.

Currently John was out for drinks with some Stamford fellow and Mrs. Hudson was joining a friend for a show on West End and why people would do either of those things on a Monday night baffled Nora. She was left at home to do work while Sherlock flitted about with his experiments.

She looked up slowly, the realization having reverberated in her chest a certain way, to see him seated at the kitchen table peering elegantly through a microscope. If ever there was a time for action, this was it.

Leaving her perch in Sherlock's chair, she casually made her way over to the refrigerator and scanned over its options before turning back to face him. There his fingers were, rested against his lips again in a way that both irked and gratified her. He was wearing a black button-up to match the rest of his black suit and that striking ensemble alone was enough to make her lose her train of thought.

She braced her hands on the table as lightly as possible to give herself stability and the nerve to push out the words lodged in her throat.

"Look Holmes, do you…mmm, never mind." As quickly as she jumped into it she back away again.

"What was that?"

She shook her head and plastered on a smile. "Nothing, really. Forget it."

"What were you going to say?" he pressed, standing up and tugging his blazer straight. When she didn't answer again, he took deliberate steps around the table and toward her, ones that she matched in pace backwards. "I want to hear what you were thinking."

Nora tilted her chin up and began, "Well, even though I'm rather ordinary –"

"Most certainly," he added, predatory gait never letting up.

A moment later her back hit the wall and she found herself trapped amid Sherlock's intoxicating proximity. Their bodies weren't even touching and yet she hardly found space to breathe. Then there was a freshness to his scent that startled her out of the daze, though she could still feel the slight tremor in her voice as she spoke.

"Look, I do believe I know a bit of physical chemistry when I see it."

Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he looked as though he would devour her then and there. She wished he would, at least to put her out of her anticipatory misery, but instead he leaned in ever closer.

"My good woman, if I were to try and entice your physical reactions…" he paused to dip his head, letting his breath fan over her neck and his nose just skim along it, and waited until her initial gasp had gone quiet to continue. "It would purely be from a scientific standpoint. To discover what excited you and what could weaken you to your knees."

Nothing in the world could have prepared her for this, not the monotony of the kitchen or the unassuming hum from the street far away. Each of Sherlock's enunciations sent an electric shiver up her spine and she placed her hand on his forearm in hopes of passing it back to him.

"Do your discovering, then."

The curtain on all hesitations dropped and he fell into her, a crushing embrace that she willingly relinquished her breath to. His hands were twisted in the back of her shirt as his mouth captured her neck and jaw and she fought to keep her knees steady under the pressure of his splendid work on her form.

After blindly grasping him closer Nora led the short charge down the hallway to his bedroom, still walking backwards and gasping when he nipped at her ear. When they made it into the room he kicked the door shut and she managed to separate herself by a few steps.

"Any results yet?" she panted, already itching to pull clothes off.

"Racing heartrate, the skin on your neck his wildly heated, and your pupils could be saucers. You're rather stimulated so far."

He carefully removed his suit jacket and hung it on the door while she watched, rather stimulated indeed. She was hyper-aware of the organized state of the room and how it contrasted her disheveled mind and how all she wanted was more. More of him and his gaze and his touch.

She got what she wished for in the next breadth of a second because he whisked toward her once more, his grip coming to rest on her hips and helping to gracefully remove her jeans. He lingered and squeezed on her newly bare flesh to commit it to memory and she knew the heat wouldn't leave hers for a long time either. The only brief pause came when his gaze fell to the shamrock tattoo low on her hip.

"Ohh, Mrs. Hudson would be unamused were she to find this."

"Not the time to mention my mother, Holmes." Nora guided his chin back up. "Maybe try something else."

After a moment he ventured, "Your eyes are…ravishing?"

He was successfully endearing and she nodded, batting those eyes for him to be ravished by a bit longer.

He wordlessly took the cue to advance, hands sliding to her lower back to pull her flush against him. The warmth of their mingling breath was dizzying and like magnets his lips dipped toward hers, only to shift and latch on to her pulse point. She had not even a moment to recover from his dupe before he artfully collapsed them onto the bed and let his weight sinking into her do so much more than even his words could.

There was greed evident in the twitch of his lips and it translated well as his hands traversed even more of her form, his body following to settle at the end of the bed between her legs. His touch had been so strong up to that point that when his fingertips delicately dragged along her parted inner thighs, she whimpered.

He chuckled at his effectiveness and even that dragged yearning between her legs, giving him more incentive to hook his thumb in her underwear and study the intricate lace for a moment.

"Those were for me," Sherlock surmised as they were tugged down and off her body effortlessly as water.

She toyed with the hem of her shirt that was still gracing her top half. "Don't let your ego get ahead of you. I just like those for daily wear."

He didn't believe her and it didn't really matter, not when she was trapped between his taut body and the downy bed and whirling deeper into desire with every passing second. What did matter was the way her core was now bared to him and how he could bring it to throb with simply his critical gaze.

Just when it seemed he would make himself very useful, he pulled to a standing position and took hold of her leg. "I'm taking my time," he placated her curious stare, "I think you've earned it."

She was going to question what happened to the discovery aspect but her mind wandered far away when he began his ministrations at her ankle and started working his way up. His mouth molded to the contours of her calf, pressing in waves of tingles to course through her form. It was when she opened her eyes that an idea struck her.

"Take off your shirt."

"Why?"

Nora cocked her head against the sheets, playfulness crinkling her eyes. "Because it will heighten my senses."

He quirked an eyebrow but complied all the same, painstakingly undoing his shirt button by button only to discard it behind him without care. His gaze never left hers, searing a lust into the space between them that promised so much more than had already taken place.

She could have been slightly daunted, what with his muscled shoulders and frame towering above her, but all she really felt was one word. Ready.

And still a little feisty, of course.

"So what was that about how I hold power under men again?"

He shook his head once definitively. "An incorrect application for now, seeing as I'm quite in power at the moment."

As an illustrious example, he sank to his knees and reattached his lips right where they'd left off to begin the meandering up once more. She felt the power indeed and let a contented hum escape and his own hum in return buzzed an extra sensation into her skin. There was a thick lock of his hair that had curled forward, so close and appealing that she could reach out and touch it, but the last thing she wanted to do was hinder his current pace and so she admired it nodding in time with his busy mouth.

When he nipped at her sensitive inner thigh she had to bite her lip to stifle a giggle, but to no avail. His teeth that she rarely saw were actually bared in one corner of his smile when he addressed her.

"What?"

"Good…" she trailed off and giggled again at her own breathlessness. "That's good."

After a proud shift of his shoulders he retorted, "I should think so, you've been tensing in anticipation for me to reach your apex flesh with my mouth since I began at your ankle. I also think it would be a waste of built-up arousal to work on the entirety of the other leg as well, don't you?"

She mumbled in agreement and let the palpable strain in the air take hold of her, the strain of knowing how nothing but what Sherlock was poised to do could satiate what her every nerve was singing for.

He must have ravaged her senseless in a previous life, too, because his lips and tongue met her most intimate flesh with startling accuracy. A single lick up one side of her folds and down the other to start and repeated a few times to warm everything with more wet heat than was already present. A broader lick bottom to top brought her whining breaths forth and from there it was mayhem as he delved in deeper and deeper. In and around her slick his agile tongue lashed and yet it was still a solid, steady pace in time with any sounds she uttered.

"Oh god, Holmes."

"Say my name," he countered, methodically sucking on more of her tender flesh.

There was a coil tightening in her stomach but she managed to reply, "You don't actually want that."

"Say it."

The commanding tone was punctuated by finally dragging his tongue to whirl at her clit and his arms gathered her hips ever closer, giving her no escape and no other name to bring to her lips.

"Sherlock!"

Actually voicing his first name made everything she'd experienced with him since her arrival that much more scathingly real, especially his current laving to her center. An indecent moan followed and tore from her throat and she could care less if the whole world heard her.

Not many people would if Sherlock Holmes was using his lecherous mouth on them, too.

That mouth began pressing directly over her core, just kisses of the friction she was starting to need. Her head fell back as she closed her eyes to block out everything but his attentions and she would've visually missed the way his lips curled into a grin except that it was pressed deliciously against her so she felt every inch.

"I won't bore you with the list of signs that your libido is rampant but I'll tell you one thing is obvious: you're aching for me."

Nora's hand dove to tangle in his hair, unsure whether to stop him or draw him even rougher against her, but nevertheless she moaned again as he continued his observations.

"Would I have been able to entice such visceral reactions from you when we met three weeks ago?"

She barked a laugh. "If you used these same skills, it's likely."

The tug in her lower belly was too strong and the need clouding her mind too thick for her to notice, but his haughty chuckle should have been warning enough. Suddenly there were his fingers replacing his mouth, blast those dexterous fingers. They traced along the curves of her folds and up to her bundle of nerves to rub it just so, just as he knew would lurch her sanity farther away.

She made the mistake of glancing down right as his clear blue eyes flicked up to hers. Like a thunderclap from the heavens themselves he winked at her, as if his breadth of knowledge now extended only to her body and how he intended to make it croon.

It was when he slipped his index finger into her wet heat that she cried out again, arching at the perfection of his touch.

"Christ, Sherlock, please!"

He consented, gliding in another digit to stretch her further, winding her every muscle closer to the peak starting to creep into her core. She was quivering under him, clasping her free hand into the sheets as he massaged the right pressure with his fingertips over and over again. Without warning he curled them upwards, coaxing a wail of pleasure from her lips as she careened higher with the electricity of the spot he found.

Almost too quietly he cooed, "That's it. So close."

And that was it indeed. His deep, lilting voice pushed her just over the edge and his exquisite caresses crashed her into an ecstasy that rolled over her skin in wave after wave. Now that his name had been on her tongue it wouldn't leave as her core clenched around his fingers.

"Oh fuck, Sherlock! Sherlock, oh my god."

She panted and keened and rode out the orgasm as he watched, eyes meticulously trained on her every reaction. His free hand had taken to gripping her outer thigh and that was the first thing she felt as she was coming down, an anchor that she placed her own hand over and grounded herself to the moment.

"That was incredible," she huffed, petting a few of his stray curls that she'd mussed.

"Was?" He cocked his head and smirked like an omniscient god. "You think we're finished?"

It was a rhetorical question as usual and he answering it by lowering his head to suck and roughly scrape his teeth along her previously neglected thigh, licking the skin afterwards to ease the red bruise forming. The bit of pain was stark against the wicked pleasure from moments before and she welcomed it with an open-mouthed sigh.

His hands skimmed under the edge of her shirt to push it up and he gave the same fervid care to her stomach, leaving another few marks behind. He slowly worked his way up her torso with gentler kisses and it was when he lifted more of his weight onto her that she cleared her throat to get his attention.

"So the science really does get you off, Mr. Holmes."

The bulge straining in his trousers was obvious and despite Sherlock rolling his eyes to remain nonchalant, Nora was pleased. What a magnificent man she'd let drag her to bed.

"Like I said, not done," he quipped and waved at her shirt. "Off with that."

She peeled off her shirt and bra as he got rid of his own offending articles and swiveled back to face her, his gaze raking over her naked form casually reclined before him. She studied him right back and found both of them without a witty phrase to toss around, instead finally feeling a little vulnerable.

Sherlock settled for a tight grin. "You look good."

"I'll say the same for you," she offered.

It was enough for their purposes and enough of an invite for him to clamber back on top of her, leaving her legs to fall open further to accommodate his nimble form coming to rest between them. Inch for inch of his bare skin pressed to hers was tantalizing and she breathed ever more of him in to ignite her chest.

The world slowed for a moment as his face lined up with hers and a few tendrils of his dark curls even swept her forehead. Mesmerizing was really the only word that tried to cross her mind concerning his unreadable expression, mesmerizing and amusing. Whatever she had done to earn the extra favor and have his journey of discovery descend onto her body was well worth it.

And she wanted more, so this time she took the initiative. Skipping his lips, she attached her own to his sharp jaw and made quick work of his composure as he leaned into her kisses and nibbles down his throat.

Being a man of many talents, he was able to balance a thorough enjoyment of her work with tracing his hand up to her breast and fondling it expertly, bringing an aroused warmth to the tender flesh. At his touch she pushed herself flusher against him, drawing him impossibly closer and nearly suffocating herself against his skin.

She'd suffered suffocation over the last few weeks already with breathing more polluted air than normal. Far more passersby on the streets of Central London were smokers and it wasn't a habit she could ever bring herself to pick up. But this? This was cutting off air from deeper within her than before. This was snapping synapses in her brain faster just because of the touch of a man without blocking airways.

And she was willing to lose even more breath than that if he'd just kiss her, but he had a different route planned.

When she finally pried her mouth from his collarbone, she found the green of the far wall stood in lovely complement of the blue irises rested inches from her own. He was asking her a question with his expressive eyes, one that she didn't understand and so furrowed her brow.

"You're still fine with all of this?" he breathed, genuine concern noticeable in the flick of his tongue across his lip.

Her brow furrowed further and she chided, "Is my body doing something to say otherwise?"

"Of course your pheromones are strong, you lean into every touch, and…" he trailed off when his eyes once again met her expectant gaze. "Right, that answers that."

"Still, it's noble of you to ask when we're already at this point."

He shrugged and slipped an arm to cradle her back. "It's only fun if both participants are willing."

"So you're admitting this is fun?" she teased. "And here I thought Sherlock Holmes didn't – oh!"

She had been so busy chatting away she hadn't noticed how he angled himself at her entrance and then with a grunt he gloriously thrusted himself in. She called God's name as well as a few others, thanking anyone who would listen for the way he filled her to the brim so flawlessly.

Her arms wrapped around his brawny chest to seal the embrace as he slowly moved out and back in again until their hipbones met, creating a friction that jumpstarted her own rhythm rolling against him in time with sinful sighs. His own moans joined hers this time, quieter but still alluring, an erotic tune that even his finest violin playing couldn't replicate.

Coming so soon off of euphoria made it easy for her to be brought right back to its brink and his head fell to the crook of her neck as he found his own pleasure building. Undulating again and again against each other, they left no space or breath to question why they fell into this scenario in the first place.

Or why it felt almost too sublime.

Soon enough Nora's nails found his flesh and left half-moon imprints along his spine as heat pooled into her lower belly again. She met each of his thrusts in perfect sync and could feel a slight tickle when his lids fluttered shut against her neck, and hers followed suit as a smile etched its way onto her cheeks.

He was whispering praises into her skin, inaudible at best but still a steady rumble of noise that calmed every wayward nerve and allowed the focus to stay on the carnal sensations.

"Nora!" he suddenly rasped, clutching her closer as his rutting became more uneven.

Her own mind was spiraling far away, too, so she held onto him as their groans and movements crescendoed with the pressure building between them, grinding again and again until everything snapped into a white-hot blaze. He emptied into her with a satisfied gasp and she wasn't far behind, their unified bliss coming with easier closure than any of his small cases she'd witnessed so far.

She grazed comforting pecks to his chest and he returned a few of his own before uncoiling and falling to rest beside her on the bed. The skin to skin contact never stopped, giving her something to still mull over as a thick silence settled in the room.

"We should probably avoid being found like this," she eventually broke it with little more than a prod to his elbow.

"An astute observation."

They were half-hearted statements from a pair reluctant to move their tired bodies and Nora followed up without even glancing over. "But it's still a little while before they return, right?"

There was no reason to fear the way his eyes curiously traveled up and down her naked form once more as he mused, "I will not be crediting Mrs. Hudson for your sudden bout of intelligence."

"You're almost too kind."

They rested for a few minutes more, letting busy pulses and strung-out nerves return to their normal state and making it easier to separate the memories of the previous session from the exciting next one.

But that wasn't terribly hard because her lips, still left unkissed, were kept a new kind of busy anyway.

* * *

 _Bang!_

 _Bang!_

A third shot rang out, too, though it was accompanied by muffled protests from Mrs. Hudson who immediately bustled past her daughter to march upstairs and demand an explanation.

Nora was leaned against the countertops in the Hudsons' downstairs kitchen, finally meddling with the coffee maker for the first time since her visit. Early morning light was glaring in through the window and heating up the small space more than was to her liking.

Soon two pairs of footsteps could be heard making their way back to the ground floor and it was John's voice that floated down first.

"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson, I promise he was just firing blanks. None of your walls were hit and neither were any people, though you didn't care to ask."

He finished calming her and returned her to the back room to continue organizing her recipe book, still fretting all the while. He rejoined Nora in her kitchen area and tried to greet her but she held her hand up for pause.

"It's too bloody warm for this." She tugged her heavy jumper up and over her head, unfortunately dragging her shirt quite high up with it, too. After returning it to the correct position, she gave a sheepish laugh. "Sorry, I didn't mean to flash you everything."

His head was curiously tilted and whatever was on his mind didn't stay hidden for long. "Good morning, um, are you hurt? That bruising on your stomach is a bit worrisome."

"No, I'm just…" she started to say that she was clumsy but wasn't fast enough before he took up again.

"That's a love bite, isn't it? I didn't realize you'd gone out last night."

Nora pieced together another embarrassed grin, thankful that he assumed she'd gotten the marks outside of Baker Street. "Promise you won't tell Mum?"

"Of course not." With a shrug he added, "Sherlock, however, will likely be able to deduce your night without even seeing those. Just warning you."

"I'll keep that in mind."

There was a barer selection of breakfast than usual splayed on the table so it didn't take long for the pair to fix a few plates and traipse upstairs. The door to the upper flat was surprisingly still on its hinges after the outburst a few minutes earlier and they found the resident genius sitting high on his chair, still twirling the gun around a few of his fingers.

"I didn't realize firing blanks could be so loud," Nora commented, not facing the man in question until she was safely seated away on the couch. "Were you testing a theory for a case?"

"Just releasing some extraneous energy," Sherlock mumbled and it seemed like he would slip into one of his trances until he turned and acknowledged her with a nod.

John looked on with piqued interest, waiting for Sherlock's inevitable monologue about all the signs pointing to whatever happened to Nora the previous night, but evidently he would have to be patient as the detective simply stood and strutted to the mantle, silently fiddling with various objects lining the top.

Nora sipped from her coffee mug, something John immediately latched onto. "You don't normally drink coffee in the morning, do you?"

"I wanted to today."

"Perhaps you didn't get enough sleep last night?" he prodded. Despite his warning he seemed to have a morbid desire to see Sherlock oust her as he eagerly looked between the two.

Nora rolled her eyes at him as Sherlock still didn't comment. With a frustrated flutter John picked up a newspaper and began leafing through, having given up on the possibility of a little morning entertainment.

The secret between Nora and the man standing regally across the room was kept alive with the fire in his eyes as he glanced at her in the mirror's reflection, a quick lift of his eyebrows praising her for playing his game. It was her turn to wink at him and then recline fully on the couch as he took the hint to carry the game further.

"My speculation, Nora, would merely be that you had an uneventful night, ergo needing coffee this morning for something exciting."

"As usual you seem to know everything, Sherlock. I'm impressed yet again," she droned.

John's gaze bounced between the two of them with renewed alarm. Clearing his throat, he stood and stuttered around before finding what to say. "Nora, um, I actually had a question about your Mum's oven, would you come with me for a moment?"

She warily agreed, though she could guess what interrogation was about to take place, and they retraced their steps back to the same kitchen as earlier, what John could only hope was out of earshot of the other residents in the flat. Before Nora even came to a complete stop, he whirled to face her.

"Now hold on a minute, he didn't say a damn thing to you about it. Did _Sherlock_ give you those marks?" His humorless grin was quite amusing to her.

"What's that thing Americans do, plead the fifth?"

"Nora, you used his first name. You called him Sherlock," he accused, arms crossed ironclad in his soft jumper.

She finally relented, holding her own arms open innocently. "Well, it seemed rude not to after last night."

"Jesus Christ, he…you slept with him! You actually had sex with Sherlock Holmes!"

His frantic whisper struggled to stay quiet and yet it was loud enough to resonate with Nora. Yes indeed she'd really shagged him and to be honest, she was still trying to recover from that paradise.

She nodded and decided to have at least a little fun with the situation. "Well yes, as well as plenty of other –"

"No, that's enough thanks." John pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just, Sherlock? I never even thought about him having…"

Clearing her throat stopped him short. "I should hope not, Doctor Watson."

If looks could kill, she'd have to be hauled to that morgue they talk about visiting all the time. Once John was done with his glare, he gazed uncomfortably at the ceiling and had just opened his mouth to ask another question when Sherlock called from upstairs.

"John, there were two people involved in last night's activities, I'm surprised you don't want to question both of us."


End file.
